I inscribe runic symbols on my skin with the blade from a lady’s razor.

The scrimshaw of a misspent decade in vibrant red or ropey white

Like a twelve stitch-scarred mountain range on a bone-thin arm.

Its pagan magic, primal right of passage, I swear I’m not insane (liar)

When one is living in an unnatural, unforgiving society that demands obedient normalcy and punishes any deviation indirectly with social ostracism and public ridicule for the rich or the barrel of a gun for the rest. The Oligarch’s of Jack London’s Iron Heel is the Ministry of Truth circa 1984 of the late Eric Arthur Blair or the equally deceased Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World.